Useless
by heyyl0
Summary: If there was anything Italy for certain knew, it was that he was always hopelessly and comically useless, and that Germany was not. But he also knew that nobody was allowed to insult their friendship. Nobody. And if anyone did, they were going to have to face a very hidden side of the personification of Northern Italy. One-shot. GerIta-ish if you squint hard enough. WWII era.


Based on an old headcanon of mine. I often wonder what most of Germany's military bosses think of Italy. It must be difficult, I'm sure! Enjoy this one-shot! Reviews are welcomed and encouraged!

**Useless**

If there was anything Italy for certain knew, it was that he was always hopelessly and comically useless, and that Germany was not. But he also knew that nobody was allowed to insult their friendship. Nobody.

He also believed that this certain and precarious order of things always existed, and if this order was ever disrupted he would be front and center to make it right again. Most of the time, his world was cheerfully in order. However, one particular Monday afternoon, at a WWII German military camp in Libya, he found something in his orderly world was amiss. Very amiss and very wrong.

On his way to deliver a daily bowl of pasta to his best friend, Germany, he skipped and sung a cute tune he'd heard on the radio that very morning, in the best German he could muster of course! After finding Germany's tent to be empty, he walked over to the general's quarters – where Germany could normally be found if he was already up and about. Italy didn't really like the head general all too much, because the general didn't seem to like him. The aged military leader never seemed to smile at Italy or laugh at his jokes. Both him and Germany always seemed to be too serious about the war, and never once had he heard either laughing in each other's company. As he approached the tent, Italy expected to hear the same usual bland discussion. But as he reached the entrance, instead of hearing those usual voices, he heard one loud, booming, abnormally angry voice…and a very familiar voice…breaking?

Opening the door a crack, but not enough to expose himself to the two, he saw general, and old man with silver hair, speaking to Germany in a tone that could only be described as mockingly furious, while Italy's strong friend stood, fist-clenched, with his back turned to Italy, sounding abnormally weak as he spoke.

Utilizing the limited amount of German language knowledge he knew, he mentally translated their language to understand the heated discussion, albeit bits and pieces.

"That's why I am sending you to work there again…your troops…disgrace to Hitler…you know he is furious at you, Germany…you lost control of another city, because those Italians ran off…why can't you keep that pasta man under control…you can't even get that man into shape…useless, lazy trainer…"

"Sir, I can..." A small sniffing sound was heard. "…explain-"

"No, you can't, you son of a…" Italy flinched as the general slapped his friend. "I spent my childhood…been in the army since childhood…working hard…you do nothing…just eat gelato with him and that Japanese man all day…playing football when you should be training…laughingstock…you're ruining my reputation…my own country…who's destroying my life…"

"I do work hard! I can try harder-"

"…is a failure…I am ashamed…my nation's personification…is useless."

"I am not!"

"Useless at winning wars…useless of taking myself and others into consideration…caring about that man…worrying about him…worrying and caring only about the useless…slowing down for the weak…you are a weakling...I despise you…that is the reason why I will send you to the new concentration camp to work again…that's where all the useless Germans go…"

"No! Please, don't send me back there again! Please!"

"…and you will be punished justly…a good hundred hours will do you good again…maybe this time you will return…less tolerant of the weak and useless…"

"I'll do anything! Anything to keep me from being taken there again! Anything!"

"Too bad…Go tell that Italian you're taking a short vacation again…"

"Do you have any idea what it's like to work there?! I hate it there!"

"Too bad…now go do as you're told."

"But they are-"

"As you are told!"

As the personification of Germany turned away from his superior and walked to the entrance, Italy could see his frightened and teary face turned downwards, his blond head held low, and Italy would be lying if he said the sight didn't frighten him. Never once had he ever imagined his strong friend in such a low state. He almost thought the word "sad" didn't even exist in the German vocabulary. He also found he wasn't even sure how to comfort an upset German. Italy was almost afraid to do so. None of it made sense – Italy was the one who was supposed to tear up, not him! Never him…It was so abnormal…disorderly…

He had to pretend everything was normal…yes, normal. He had to return to his tent and pretend everything was normal, and maybe Germany would stop crying and be normal again. Yes, that had to be the cure for sad Germans. Italy just wanted everything to return to order - especially his friend's feelings!

Italy quickly turned away from the depressing sight and dashed back to his own tent, where Germany would go looking for him. Italy walked into the small living space and sat on the bed, with a bowl of pasta ready to offer. He smiled as best as he could, served himself a bowl of pasta for himself, and waited.

A few moments later, Germany walked through the entrance. As Italy expected, instead of seeing the face of the upset man Italy had just seen, he saw that Germany had wiped away most of his tears and regained his usual firm demeanor, but a hint of exhaustion still seemed to linger in his features. He wasn't surprised - Italy never expected Germany, who valued composure, to show his weaker feelings. It hurt Italy a bit inside to see his friend put on such a façade for him. Still, Italy knew he would be a hypocrite if he complained. He was faking ignorance as well.

Trying to comfort Germany, he easily slipped into his usual, useless, role. "Good afternoon, Germany! I got you your bowl of pasta! Let's eat!"

Germany turned warily to Italy, seeming like the usual tough nation Italy had come to know. "_Danke_," he said quietly before taking the small bowl and sitting on the bed next to him. Clearing his throat, he turned to his smiling ally. "Italy…I have some news. Do you remember a few weeks ago, after you accidentally set the arsenal on fire, that I had to go back to Germany to work for a few days?" He took a bite of pasta.

"_Si_, of course…I was very sad when you went away…things weren't the same without you around. All the officers were mad at me and I didn't have you to run to. And when you came back, I remember you being very quiet. Very much unlike you. It was days before you started yelling again."

"Well, I'm sorry, but I must go back. I'm afraid the general wants me to work there for the weekend."

"Again? That won't be fun."

"Quite an understatement."

They paused for a while as they both ate quietly, neither knowing what to say to each other – a rare moment, since their pasta times were usually filled with conversation. Italy finally broke the unusual silence. "Germany, you'll do fine. You are one of the strongest people I know. I believe in you. Besides, the work days will all be over before you know it! Then we can spend time together again! And-"

Italy was shocked when Germany suddenly swallowed back a small choke, but not from eating. The German turned his face away. "Italy…"

"Yes, Germany?"

He paused before speaking. "I…you are aware that we are at war? And…we are currently losing here in Africa?"

"Yes."

"And, it's been difficult facing officers who expect me to do a good job protecting our territories here…and scold me when I end up losing battles instead?"

"I'm sure."

"And that my country's government…doesn't like weak people? Doesn't like failure?"

Italy paused before answering. "I get that impression, yes."

"Italy, my boss hasn't been pleased with either of our performances in the war. Many of my superiors haven't been happy with us. I haven't told you this, but I get blamed for more than what you think I do."

"You don't lose all the battles. Why in God's name does he blame you?"

Germany took a deep breath. Turning away from Italy, he continued hesitantly. "He dislikes me because…I'm not strict enough, and I make too many excuses. I haven't been putting my full effort into the war recently. I slack off. I can't keep doing that. Thus, I need to begin prioritizing my life, Italy. I need to stop…I need to stop skipping out on my military duties to go build sandcastles with you. I need to train the troops more often. I need to work harder. That's why I must leave. I need to toughen up. It will be for my own good. If I don't slack off like you, then at least we'll have a good chance of winning against England and America again."

Italy felt conflicted, and vaguely guilty. Never had he thought of Germany's life that way. He always felt as if Germany had no problems with his boss. Not to mention…he hadn't thought of all the backlash Germany had to take for all their misdeeds and failures. He was responsible for what happened to both of them in Germany's boss's eyes. But to Italy, Germany was never a failure – he was the hardest-working nation he knew. Yet at the same time, Germany had been taking a lot of time off to hang out with him. Was his laziness beginning to rub off on him? Was he changing Germany into something his own country's government hated? So many questions were making Italy's head spin. Italy knew he was useless, but was he that much of a plague to Germany? He was helpful somehow, wasn't he? Wasn't he? Well he supported Germany...

"Germany…you can be strong even hanging out with this useless Italian!"

"No, I can't."

"You are a great guy!"

"No, I am not. I'm a disappointment…"

"You beat yourself up too much!"

"Why not? Everyone else does the same!" He paused for a moment before suddenly getting up and walking to the door. Italy could only stare at him. Germany set down the half-eaten plate on a nearby table. "Thank you for the pasta, Italy. I need to begin packing now. "I'll be off at noon tomorrow. I'll make sure to see you before I leave." And with that, he walked out of the tent without another word, but Italy swore he could hear a sniffle or two coming from him before he walked out.

For a few moments, Italy sat there, face frozen but thinking wildly. He stared at the plate with buzzing thoughts, some familiar and some unfamiliar. For a few moments, Italy felt a wave of emotions. He felt pity for his friend, then sadness for the situation they were in, then guilt for not standing up for Germany earlier. And then, after a few minutes, he felt resolve when he suddenly figured out how to solve all their problems. He must have sat there for a good five minutes wallowing in his feelings and plans when he finally got up and walked out the door. His feet carried him directly back to the general's quarters. Not bothering to knock, he entered the tent. The general was still there sitting at his desk and filling out paperwork. Italy cleared his throat to let the general know he was there.

The general was an old man with features hard as the medals and honors pinned to his uniform. he was tough, unemotional, and not easily swayed. While most of Germany's generals were only slightly annoyed by Italy and his shenanigans, this general had a particular hatred for Italy, even on the rare occasions when the Italian did follow protocol. It was evident on this man's features when he saw him walk in uninvited that he wasn't at all the biggest fan of Venice and Milan. After hearing the discussion earlier, Italy now knew why. He also knew the general was mentally cursing him out as he walked in. Nonetheless, Italy remained unperturbed.

"General…" Italy began in the best German he could. "Germany told me that you…are sending him away again."

The old man signed. "That is correct."

From the general's point-of-view, it was slightly unnerving talking directly to the Italian whom he had rarely seen apart from Germany. Not to mention, the Italy he knew always had a dumb smile on his face- this Italy was oddly stoic. His broken German was poor, but he spoke with a timber that was out of place for him. "Well…too bad. I'm not letting you…send him away. I won't allow it."

The general paused before guffawing loudly. Was he giving him a command? That was a first. "Ha! What's this? An order? Where is all this authority coming from?" He chuckled as he got up and walked over to Italy. "I didn't know you were so funny!" he laughed as he placed his hand on Italy's shoulders. However, seconds after he did, he felt a shockwave move through his hands, and it wasn't until a few seconds later that he realized that his hands had been slapped away…hard.

Shocked, he looked down at his wrists, which were now a bright red, and then turned to look at his aggressor and flinched. Nothing in all his years in the military could have prepared him for one of the angriest glances that was staring at him in the eye, and never in a million years did he expect the Italian to have that kind of ferocity in him. It was disturbing, to say the least.

Italy, with a newfound courage that he didn't even remember he had, continued to stare down the general in anger. "You think this is a joke?...You think I'm a joke?...I have fought more wars…and joined more armies…and held more weapons in my lifetime than you ever will. I'm a nation…an entire people – you're not. And you think that you, a weak…mor-mortal…actually have the right to insult a nation who's been respected by many, many rulers and lived many years? I speak for both Germany and I." He walked to the general. The general began backing up tepidly, his face a mixture of confusion and fear.

"I may be useless, but not always. I know how to be a human being and care about my friends…even if it means supplanting cowardice for bravado. I do at least that much. Anyone can be useless for their friends…and anyone can be strong for them…Because, when you're friends with someone, there is a balance…you can be both…we must be both."

The general's back hit the wall of the tent as the Italian nearly pinned him. He hadn't even noticed the Italian had been closing in on him as he spoke. Taking a few moments to compose himself, the old man mustered the only retort he could. "You bring him down….You are aware that the German higher-ups…laugh at you? Scorn you? Hate you…as much as I do? Germany must not be useless at all…never at all! You may be friends…but it doesn't mean your friendship is good for our military!"

Italy's eyes flared as his fists clenched and without putting much thought into what he was doing he punched the general in the jaw as strongly as he could. The old man, not expecting the hard blow, stumbled over, falling over boxes. The angry Italian pulled him up by the shirt collar and held his face inches away from his. A nosebleed trickled down the old man's stubble.

In all the time he had knew him, the general had never bothered to look into the Italian's eyes, and now he was being forced to do so. As he did, he was shocked by the sight of the two fiery amber orbs that were filled with nothing but hatred for him. It was an overwhelming experience looking into those eyes – one that the general would recall years later even on his deathbed – a feeling of experiencing the life of a being who once saw the Renaissance and French Revolution, independence wars, loss, bloodshed, millions of lives come and go. He saw in those eyes the fighting passion of millions boiling in the blood of the man who looked as if he was about to kill him, but at the same time he saw warmth and a desire to protect. It was an alarming feeling, an ego-crushing one...for even in general's attire, he felt weak compared to the man who wore an Italian private's uniform. It didn't make sense…He wasn't supposed to feel...afraid of him!

"General," the Italian began slowly, venom lacing his words. "I want you to listen closely…You will not send Germany away…Germany is my friend…He is both nice and strong, just like me…we are friends…we are superior to you…we demand respect…"

Italy tightened his grip around the general's shirt collar, nearly choking him. "I know you hate me. I know few Germans approve of me as his friend…but that won't stop me…from taking care of him….and standing up for him." He tightened his grip even more, and his eyes grew darker. "You don't have the power to control entire nations…and you don't have the power to control two nations' friendship. So let us be, and don't blame Germany. Blame your ability to accept us for who we are. Understand?"

"N-never…"

"I said…do…you…understand…?" With each word his grip tightened around the neck of the poor general and cutting off his supply of air. With each new level of tightness, the old man began to feel himself lose consciousness. He wasn't really going to kill him if he sent Germany away, was he?...was he?

"N-…"

"What was that?" Suddenly Italy yanked the general up almost to standing height. Any tighter, and the grip would suddenly feel more like a noose…

"Ack…"

"I can't hear you."

"I…okay…y-y-yessss…I do…I unders-s-stand…"

The grip loosened slightly. "And you will not send Germany away?"

"I-I-I…won't. Now just let me go! I can…hardly…breathe…."

With a content look on his face, Italy dropped the general. On the floor, the general gasped for air as he picked himself up with what little dignity remained in him. He was bested…intimidated…by him?!

"Good. Now, listen to me…general…this is what I want you to do…"

* * *

The next morning, Germany was throwing a set of black tank tops into a suitcase when the cheerful Italian ran into his tent. "Germany! Germany! You must go see the general! He's got good news for you!"

"Good news?"

The two walked to the old man's tent where he sat doing his usual paperwork. As the two walked in and the old man got up to greet them, Germany could have sworn the general gave a short frightened glance at Italy before he walked up to him. Still, no time to ponder that now. Formal greetings were in order.

"Good morning, sir. You needed to see me?"

"Morning, Germany. I have a few things I need to tell you." He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed deeply before he continued. "First of all, I apologize for the outburst yesterday. After thinking things over, I realized how much your friendship with Italy is valued. I also feel as if I acted out of line with you yesterday. Perhaps I should have respected you more, and perhaps a part of the blame for your recent military losses should be considered mine as well. Thus, I can't send you away for something I also share partial blame for. And therefore, I have decided to apologize, and to let you know that you will stay here."

Italy's eyes widened and he leaped in the air with joy and hugged Germany. "Hooray! Now you won't have to go away, Germany! We can eat and drink and laugh and sleep together! Yay!"

"Italy, don't make a fool out of yourself!" Germany yelled angrily.

Italy smiled. "Now that's the Germany I know."

Turning to the general with a small smile on his face and an Italian firmly attached to him, he quickly saluted the now-fidgety old man. "Thank you. It means a lot to me. I'm very grateful for your reconsideration."

The general saluted back. "Don't worry about it. Now go and get out of my sight with him…_quickly please."_

The general kept his eyes on the two friends as they walked out with the Italian babbling on about weekend plans to build pasta and ravioli sandcastles. However, when they were about ten feet away, the Italian chirped out, "Oops! I dropped my fork in the tent. I'll meet you in the dining tent in a second, Germany!"

"Ja, ja.."

Italy walked back into the tent. The general knew he didn't drop his fork at all. Italy reentered the tent and after taking a quick glance to make sure Germany had walked far enough so he wouldn't hear them, he quickly exchanged his carefree smile for a darker and victorious one, which he proudly displayed. "Well done. That's exactly what I wanted to hear. Now, I hope you stay this way, or else I'll have my boss call up his favorite firing squad. Understand?"

The general silently nodded.

After making sure his friend would be safe, Italy's smile transformed back to fit his usual goofiness. "Good! I'm so glad! Thank you, and ciao!" With that, he skipped merrily out the door to catch up with his best friend. After all, it was time for another, ordinary day. The first of many more to come.

* * *

Hope you liked it! I'm working hard to try to update my other stories, and I'm working on a new Hetalia horror fanfic. Keep an eye out for it. ;)


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